Chapter 84
Grind-a-thon – Day Fourteen
The first two weeks of our grind-a-thon had been awesome. Just me and my good buddy Rel tearing through some quests and fucking shit up.
It's fair to say they'd also been incredibly productive. The stat points, rewards, and Expedition Centre Points were rolling in.
Current strength: 58 (+3)
Current durability: 51 (+4)
Current agility: 42 (+6)
Current intelligence: 26 (+3)
Throughout the period, we’d learned a few interesting things.
Not only did the Tier Five board have a maximum of five quests available at any one time, but the slots were on a cooldown. Whenever we completed one, it wasn’t replaced for seven days, effectively limiting us to three new Tier Five quests per week.
The other two available quests had a three-star difficulty rating: the dragon quest and one involving a labyrinth with a minotaur god at its centre. As we'd committed to the old-school, minimal-gear approach, we were restricting ourselves to the one and two-star options.
After all, it’s pretty hard to make progress if a dragon eats you.
I asked one of the GEC employees about the quest cooldowns, and he’d told us the limitation was put in place to prevent “exploitation by anomalous entities”, which I interpreted as being a polite and professional way of saying we don’t want freaks of nature like you guys to abuse the system and turn our carefully balanced progression system into a joke.
I took it as a compliment.
The employee said that the cooldown would reduce by one day each week, meaning it'd be gone entirely in seven weeks' time. Presumably, by that point they expected there to be more Trialists capable of attempting Tier Five quests and things to be on a more level playing field.
We were also told that the number of quests on offer would gradually increase too.
To remedy the limitation, we supplemented the Tier Five quests with three-star Tier Four quests. They weren't quite as effective for stat training, what with the enemies being pussies, but they were better than nothing.
Another interesting thing we learned was that the prices in the Rewards Office were not static. I stopped by at the start of the second week to do a little window shopping, only to discover that the Pitchfork of Lurus now cost 5,500 Expedition Centre Points.
I bought it immediately, burning through nearly all the points I'd earned so far.
A helpful employee informed us that the prices on the Unique Items tab increased by 10% per week to ensure their acquisition remained appropriately “aspirational”.
To be fair, I couldn't argue with their logic.
It was clear that what Rel and I were doing – completing Tier Five quests in month seven – was far from normal. Apparently, a dozen or so more Trialists had now qualified for Tier Four, but Auroria told us that no one else had come close to reaching Tier Five.
I was pretty curious about this.
Much to Rel's displeasure, second place on the total stat gains leaderboard was still held by Tog Tog. Now, I was fairly certain that he or she had not been using the Tower of Potential or the Expedition Centre for training, so the question was: what the fuck were they doing to become stronger?
Clearly, there were still other opportunities out there waiting to be discovered.
*
We returned to the Tier Five Quest Board to find that a new quest had been listed. When I saw it, I experienced something similar to what I imagined Kaelis felt every time trolls were mentioned.
The Yeti King
Tier: Five
Rating: ★★
Recommended Group Size: 5-8
Hrundar the Heartless has done what many believed to be impossible: he has united the fractious yeti tribes of the far north and brought them under the rule of a single leader.
For centuries, constant infighting prevented the yetis from turning their attention outwards and expanding their territory beyond the Frostfang Mountain Range.
Now that they are unified beneath the iron fist of the Yeti King, they are already preparing for conquest, intending to spill from the mountains like an avalanche and sweep across the surrounding lands.
Should they succeed, countless settlements will be destroyed, and thousands will be killed or enslaved.
Travel to the Frostfang Mountains, slay Hrundar the Heartless, and shatter the alliance before the yeti hordes march to war.
Rewards:
195,000 gold
Cast Spell: Blizzard
390 Expedition Centre Points
Yetis.
Huge, furry, cheap-shotting bastards.
Thankfully, after seeing the rewards, Rel required no convincing.
With all the quests we’d done recently, the city of Stonehaven had essentially become one giant compass. A quick glance at the quest map while hovering over the city, and we could use its various landmarks as reference points, immediately knowing which direction to head in without having to fly back and forth for a few minutes like utter morons while trying to orient ourselves.
We'd completed several quests to the north of the city, but this one was much further away, its red circle sitting deep within the greyed-out, unexplored regions of our maps.
We set off immediately: me with visions of pulverising yetis, Rel with visions of learning a new spell that would bring him one step closer to becoming a master of the elements.
As we travelled further and further north, forests eventually gave way to vast plains of sparse grass and rock, and then a dusting of snow gave way to a land of endless ice.
I was more than a little surprised to see numerous towns and villages scattered throughout the region. I'd expected an empty frozen wilderness, not a population that easily numbered in the tens of thousands.
I had to admit, I was pretty curious to see who would choose to live in such a place, so Rel and I decided to take a little detour and visit one of the villages.
Rather than there being lots of individual homes, there were several longhouses, each built from stone and enormous logs. Smoke drifted from the chimneys, and I had to admit the place looked pretty damn cosy.
Honestly, I'd been expecting some shitty, primitive huts made from animal skins and bone, and a populace whose primary form of communication involved grunting and whacking each other with clubs.
Instead, it looked like the sort of place where somebody's grandmother would force-feed me stew until I physically couldn't move.
My stomach rumbled at the thought.
I wondered if they had any stew.
We landed in a large open area at the centre of the village just as one of the residents emerged from a nearby longhouse.
It's fair to say that we were both a little surprised when we saw each other.
They were an orc, but unlike any we'd encountered before.
The orcs living in Stonehaven, Oakreach, and the surrounding areas were the typical green-skinned fantasy book variety. The sort that would likely spring to mind if someone were to say the word orc.
Then there had been Anokium and his band of knights – fel orcs who apparently hailed from some distant land – with their red skin. They’d been taller and more powerfully built than their green-skinned cousins, with Dekrek being the only other orc I'd seen who could match them in size.
And then there was the orc standing in front of us.
A frost orc? Ice orc? Snow orc? I had no idea what the correct term was, but whatever it was, this guy definitely wasn't green.
Instead, his skin was an incredibly light blue, almost like someone had taken a little dab of blue paint and swirled it into a bowl of white paint.
Now, I had no way of knowing whether he was a typical example of an orc from this region, but there were a few other noticeable differences between him and the other orcs I'd encountered.
In terms of height, he fell somewhere between Anokium and any orc you'd have passed on the street in Stonehaven. I'd have put him at around seven and a half feet tall.
The fel orcs' muscular physiques had been lean and powerful. The orc in front of me? I could definitely believe he was powerful, but lean? Not so much. Even through the thick oilskins he was wearing, it was clear that he was carrying some impressive bulk.
Then again, when you lived in a place like this, you'd probably want all the extra padding you could get.
His dark blue eyes met mine, and it's fair to say he was surprised to see me. However, he didn't react with anger. Instead, his initial confusion quickly gave way to a hesitant smile.
“Greetings, stranger,” he said, giving a small, respectful nod. “It's rare that we receive visitors as... exotic as yourself in these parts. Tell me, what brings you to–”
His words trailed off the moment he noticed Rel.
“Spirits all around us,” he whispered, his eyes widening. “Our prayers have been answered.”
Then, as if suddenly remembering himself, the orc dropped to his knees before Rel and pressed his forehead into the snow.
“Oh, Great Frostfather,” he said. “I knew you would not forsake us in our greatest hour of need. For days, we have prayed and made offerings in your name. Many in the village thought you would not come, that you were disappointed in us for our failings, but I knew you would.”
He glanced up then, as if to make certain that Rel's presence had not just been his imagination. The orc's face conveyed a whirlwind of emotion: disbelief, hope, uncertainty – and, most disturbingly, a sort of fanatical worship.
Oh, shit.
Here we go.
“My name is Rognar, Frostfather,” he said, rising to his feet, then as if for good measure, bowing once more. “Please, follow me to the Great Hall and allow me to introduce you to the rest of the villagers. We shall throw a feast in your honour!”
Rel, never one to allow his surprise to get in the way of his ego, nodded grandly and followed Rognar as the orc trudged through the snow towards the largest longhouse in the village.
I stood there for a few moments, weighing up my options.
Part of me really wanted to follow them and find out what the fuck was going on. Why did he think Rel was someone called the Great Frostfather? What exactly was happening that meant it was their greatest hour of need? And, most importantly, what would they be serving at this feast?
The other part of me was terrified at the prospect of having to deal with Rel after he'd spent an evening being worshipped like some sort of god.
With a sigh, I wandered after them.
What can I say? Who doesn't love a good feast?
*
Word of our arrival – well, it would be more accurate to say word of Rel's arrival – had spread quickly, and the hall was packed to capacity, and probably a little beyond that, as every single person in the village had come to see him with their own eyes.
By that point, I was little more than an afterthought. Most people gave me a quick glance before returning their attention to the apparently divine squirrel.
Long benches ran the length of the hall, providing seating for hundreds of people, every one of which was now occupied. Against the back wall stood a raised platform, which was home to a smaller table and bench. Apparently, it was normally reserved for the mayor, his family, and important visitors from neighbouring villages and towns.
Now?
It was reserved exclusively for Rel.
Rather than sitting on a chair, where he'd have been mostly hidden from sight, he perched on the table itself, gazing out over the hall as if having hundreds of orcs worship him was par for the course.
There was one more object of note in the hall – something that went a long way towards explaining why the villagers were reacting the way they were to Rel's presence.
Beside the mayor's table stood a large granite statue. It depicted a rodent-like creature with a bushy tail.
Did it look exactly like Rel? Not really.
Did it look similar enough that it was conceivable a desperate village might cling to the possibility? I supposed their reception answered that question.
There were a few doubters, however. Not long after Rel had taken his place on the table, hushed whispers began to ripple through the crowd. I glanced over to see one of the orcs attempting to rise to his feet, gesturing angrily in Rel's direction, while his companion tried in vain to keep him kneeling by clinging to his arm.
Rel had noticed the commotion too, and true to form, knew precisely what to do to turn the situation in his favour.
“Allow him to rise and speak his mind,” said Rel, his squeaky but somehow powerful voice filling the hall.
An elderly orc rose to his feet. It took him several seconds and involved a lot of grunting and grabbing at his neighbours for support, but he eventually managed it. Breathing a little heavily, he fixed Rel with a suspicious gaze.
His face was lined with deep wrinkles, and there was a slight haze to the blue of his eyes. What remained of his hair was thin, wispy, and as white as the snow outside.
“What proof do we have that you are actually the Great Frostfather?” he asked, the words perhaps coming out a little harsher than intended.
The old orc immediately appeared to regret his choice of phrasing. Presumably, he'd just realised that things could end rather badly for him if Rel genuinely was the frost god everyone thought he was.
“Not that I mean any disrespect by the question, of course,” he added quickly, considerably more politely this time.
“It is right that you should question my identity,” said Rel. “There are many ill-intentioned spirits who thrive on trickery and deceit.” He raised both paws and let his gaze drift slowly across the crowd before finally settling on the old orc. “But would an evil spirit be capable of doing this?”
The air around his paws began to mist as he channelled Frostbolt, tiny crystals of ice forming and dancing around his claws.
There were a few moments of stunned silence, but they quickly gave way to cheering, shouting, and no small amount of crying.
“It is him!”
“The Great Frostfather!”
“We're saved!”
Rel allowed a suitable amount of time to pass while the villagers basked in his greatness, then cleared his throat.
“So,” he said. “What can the Great Frostfather help you with today?”